As Telemachon advised, Aeron secluded himself for the rest of the week, throwing himself into his studies and preparing for the examination. Traditionally the test lasted three days; most novices could not hold more than two or three spells in their mind at once, and since the test consisted of demonstrating at least one spell from each of the eight disciplines, the prospective student was allowed to rest and study the next spells he would have to cast during the course of the examination. Aeron probably could have managed all eight in a single day, but it would have sorely tested his limits, so he decided to take full advantage of the examination's generous rules.

The first morning, Aeron, Melisanda, and the third novice reported to a small chamber in the college's academic halls, where they were called upon to perform extensive translations of documents in Thorass and Untheric. Aeron passed these with fair marks, although he was allowed a chance to gain some additional credit by demonstrating his familiarity with Espruar.

In the afternoon, the three novices took turns casting spells before the assembled masters of the Ruling Council in the college's council chambers. This was the first time Aeron had set foot in the room, and he found it intimidating. The chamber was floored in dark, rich hardwood, and the masters' seats were gleaming, paneled boxes carved with ornate figures. While the college masters were sometimes less than punctual about attending other duties, the novitiate examination was considered a serious matter, and all nine High Masters were present. Oriseus offered Aeron a sly grin when his turn came, but Telemachon and the others showed no partiality.

Aeron had decided to get the more difficult spells out of the way first. He started with the only necromantic spell he'd yet mastered, a baleful spell known as the cold grasp. He performed it flawlessly. Without pause, he moved on to a basic abjuration, a barrier against evil. For his final effort of the day, he demonstrated the spell of opening, the alteration he'd used to escape Raedel Keep months ago. In all three cases, he passed with flying colors.

On the following day, his morning was consumed by an extensive oral examination on the theory, practice, and ethics of magic, administered by one of the lesser masters. Again, Aeron passed without note. That afternoon, before the Ruling Council, he cast his spells of conjuration, enchantment, and divination. Melisanda struggled with her castings that day, and the third novice, Briet, fell short in his last spell, failing the examination. He was sent back to his classes with the rest of the novices.

On the third day, Aeron suffered through an interminable grilling on the fine points of Chessentan history, geography, and lines of descent, barely passing. But he saved his best spells for that day, proving his command over illusion magics by working the charm of invisibility, and then showing his affinity for invocations by casting fire hand. When he finished, the guardsmen showed him to a small antechamber to await the council's judgment.

Fifteen minutes later, he was called back into the council chamber. Telemachon, Oriseus, and the other masters watched as Aeron bowed and announced himself. "Novice Aeron at your service, my lords," he said.

Telemachon stood slowly and glanced down at a piece of paper before him. "Novice Aeron, you have passed the novitiate examination. You no longer have any assigned classes; as a proven wizard, you may pursue your studies by arranging to study under any High Master you wish."

"Although you should keep working on your history," the sardonic Master Enchanter remarked.

Telemachon resumed. "Have you decided which discipline you will devote yourself to?"

Aeron drew a deep breath. "My lords, if the council favors it, I will study in the School of Invocation under Master Sarim." He noticed Oriseus's face darken for a moment, but the Master Conjuror quickly recovered.

The assembled masters turned to a tall, muscular Calishite in their midst. He wore yellow robes with a topaz hood draped over his shoulders. He smiled and nodded. "The Master Invoker is glad to accept Student Aeron into the School of Invocation," Sarim answered.

Telemachon waited a moment for any other remarks and rapped a small scepter against the lectern before him. "Very well. By decree of the council, Novice Aeron is raised to the standing of student, and his studies now fall under the purview of the High Master of Invocation. Congratulations."

"Thank you, my lords," Aeron said.

"Come see me first thing tomorrow, Aeron," Master Sarim added. "We will speak of your next endeavors. I look forward to working with you."

Aeron bowed once more and withdrew, a spring in his step. Look out, Dalrioc, he thought. I'm not your captive any longer. On his way out, he found Melisanda waiting in the antechamber. She looked anxiously at his face as he left the council rooms. "Did you pass?" she asked.

Aeron couldn't keep the grin from his face. "Easily. And you?"

The Vilhonese girl smiled, too. "No problem." With an impish laugh, she caught him by the arm, and they paraded back to the Students' Hall, ignoring the soft spring rain that had started to fall over the college grounds.

* * * * *

The elevation of novice to student was a cause for celebration, and the other Sword Hall novices swept the new students away from the college grounds to commemorate the occasion with an evening's revelry in the city's livelier quarter. Although he had no idea where to go or what to do, Aeron allowed the carousers to drag him along as they set out into the city.

The night was still and damp, with a fine, cool rain drifting down in gray mist gathering on every surface. It was cold, but not bitterly so, and for a short time, the silver fog concealed the grime and wear of the city in a delicate shroud. They reeled from tavern to tavern, finally ending up in a respectable taphouse called The Rampant Lion.

The college's students and novices were familiar with many of the alehouses ringing Old Cimbar's acropolis, and the Lion was one of their favorites.

Inside, a merry fire crackled in the common room's stone hearth, and dozens of merchants, officers, and ribald rakes shouted, laughed, and drank their fill. The Lion didn't cater to the laborers and longshoremen of the docks; the patrons' belts were heavy with silver and gold, and they paid well to drink in fine company. Aeron tried not to gawk as they pushed through the crowded room toward a private booth. His companions might have been accustomed to taverns such as The Rampant Lion, but the taproom in Maerchlin was the limit of his experience.

"What do you think, Aeron?" asked Baldon, nudging him with an elbow. He nodded toward a dark-haired barmaid whose dress displayed her charms to great advantage. "Isn't this a great place?"

Aeron concentrated on pints of Threskelan ale. Although the novices were about the youngest of the tavern's patrons, he did see a few noble rakes not much older than himself come and go through the course of the evening. After a few pints, he stopped caring. In an hour or so, the Sword Hall novices were roaring with laughter and pounding their mugs on the table for more.

"Congratulations, Aeron," Melisanda said. "You are no longer Dalrioc Corynian's flogging post." The other novices had turned their attention to a contest of bawdy songs. Her pale, fine-featured face was flushed with drink. She straightened, smoothed her dress, and stood with a little unsteadiness. "Well, the hour's late. I think I'm going to head back to the college."

"Not alone, you aren't," he stated. "These streets aren't safe."

"You might recall that I know some magic," she said.

"Why take chances?" Aeron rose, somewhat unevenly, and settled his tab and Melisanda's as well. Their hallmates were just getting started and had found a couple of friendly dancing girls to hoot and holler over. Baldon, Eldran, and the others hardly even noticed as the two new students said their good-nights and found their way to the street.